


Roses are thorny

by stilinskisoul



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Derek is married, M/M, POV Derek, Possessive!Derek, Protective!Derek, Slice of Life, Stiles is Derek's Lover, WIP, a little (or more) drama is added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisoul/pseuds/stilinskisoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has been married for four years. Derek has had a lover for one and a half year. Now it becomes problematic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Every You, every Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, dear Readers!
> 
> The plot for this story came to my mind recently, and I wanted to write it badly, like, in terms of my palms literally itching to do it. I'm not sure how frequently I will be able to update, being it's WIP, and I have school and all going on, but I'll definitely try to update ASAP!
> 
> This story contains drama (and maybe a little angst?), and I guess I have to say it won't be so fluffy like the one-shots I posted recently. It's more like the slightly darker part of life, where everything seems to go wrong all of a sudden. (But then the ties are undone and everything is solved of course. Though the way to that is not easy.)
> 
> I hope you will like it, though. I just wanted to write a story that is a little more serious, I guess. (And I also loved the idea of Stiles being married!Derek's lover.)
> 
> Unbeta'ed, I own all mistakes.
> 
> Enjoy your reading! :)
> 
>  **UPDATE 12. 11. 2014.:** I'm officially putting this story on hiatus. Currently I'm busy with my studies and the other story that I'm writing, so this one won't be updated anytime soon. I'm planning to finish it, but not now. Sorry!

Autumn has started to show its presence. It cannot be overlooked how the air is getting gradually chillier and chillier, how the green of the vegetation is slowly turning into the glorious golden shades of brown and yellow and the color of the sky has permanently changed to silver. In literature, they connect autumn with decay, however, with resurrection, too.

Derek's thoughts are circling around this subject as he's staring out through the window of his office at the trees in the neighborhood park. His index finger is constantly brushing the pinkness of his soft bottom lip, while he's wondering what changes will the new season bring into his life. Which interpretation of autumn will depict these changes? He wants to be optimistic, but he's never been good at that—he's always been a realist, standing on the ground with two feet, listening to his common sense rather than his gut instincts and heart.

Derek can't understand those who make choices based on their feelings. He firmly believes it's ridiculous and not in the least, not beneficial at all. You can't have a balanced life while you keep ignoring logic, and just let things happen after all. You have to get a grip, and move your life in the desired direction.

That is his most prior principle which he based his whole life upon.

He squeezes his eyes tightly and rubs them with his fingertips before relaxing back into his chair. The material resists against it with a loud creak, but it doesn't concern Derek at all. Instead, he changes his attention for the clock that is hung on the white wall of his office. According to it, he's finishing in seven minutes. He holds his pale green gaze on the thinest arm that's also the fastest moving, being the epitome of time as it's ticking by. He has nothing better to do.

He considers giving a call to his home, but in the end decides against it. As far as Kate knows, he's stuck with some bookkeeping and some documentaries, and he needs to stay in all night to do it.

He thinks it was an acceptable and realistic excuse for him to stay away from home overnight.

By the time those seven minutes are up, Derek has already left his office for the elevator. He gives a momentary thought to consider if it was a good idea to surprise _Him_ today, but there is no backing off for him now. After all, he's already told Kate not to expect him tonight because of work, and it would be suspicious if he suddenly said he wasn't astern with his job.

Derek hops into his Camaro and joins the evening rush hour on the roads. He's planning to make a beeline to Stiles' block of flats, however, before going there Derek wants to visit a florist. The last time he and Stiles parted they had a quite heated quarrel which resulted in Stiles leaving the rented hotel room before dawn even came. As much as Derek wanted to chase him down, he had to stay due to the payment.

“A dozen roses,” he says, fumbling with his wallet. The woman asks him if he had any plans on the colors or the adornment, but Derek is not at all good at choosing out such things, so he lets the worker to make the decision. She grabs the threads—all of the flowers are wine red, and just about to open their buds. Derek thinks that even if they are not the best choice for saying apologies, Stiles will at least know he _tried_.

Besides, red is the color of passion.

Derek pays for the bouquet and drives straightly to Stiles' block of flats. He's driving level with two other vehicles, trying to squeeze his own in between them, but in his peripheral vision he notices as the door of the building swings open and a man leaves. He wouldn't give it a second thought if he didn't see Stiles following behind almost immediately. Derek's hand involuntarily curls tighter around the stirring wheel.

And he's certain he could tear it off when that douche sinks his fingers into the pockets of Stiles' jeans, yanks him close and kisses him.

Derek's jaw clenches and a nerve keeps jumping in his temple by the strong force. A few seconds after the dickhead let go of _his_ lover, he reminds himself not to harm his car, so he unwraps his fingers from around the wheel. He keeps his eyes firmly on the unknown guy—he's sure he could kill him with his bare gaze. Derek hates it when someone lays a finger on his private property without permission.

Derek definitely would never give allowance to anyone to touch Stiles.

Derek examines the guy and concludes that he's just a typical jock—silver gray Porche, dark blonde hair, light colored eyes, perfect sculpted body and expensive clothes. How much Derek has always hated people like him. Porche Guy picks up a parking ticket from the windshield of his vehicle and curses out loudly. Derek can't help but smirk at that sardonically.

When he finally jumps into his damned Porche and drives away, Derek leaves his car as well to approach the building and go after Stiles. He brings the bouquet with him. Derek pushes the button marked 'Stilinski', then opens the door once a click notified him it's unlocked. His legs hurry up with him to the appropriate flat, and he impatiently knocks his knuckles on the wood of the front door. After that scenario he's too eager to embrace Stiles. Tightly.

Maybe he's being too possessive.

The door opens and he's welcomed by a surprised expression on Stiles' face. The boy opens his mouth to say something, but then his lips close back, leaving behind awkward silence. As far as Derek can tell, Stiles isn't trying the slightest to disguise he wasn't expecting him to visit.

“What are you doing here?” he asks finally.

“Just came to see you,” Derek responds. His heart has been beating wildly in his ribcage since he noticed Stiles and that dickhead kissing in the parking lot. Now his heart rate picks up a little bit more at their not-so-wonderful conversation and the way Stiles is eying him. “I wanted to apologize.”

Stiles makes a humming noise which Derek hopes is a sign of him thinking it over. Eventually he ends up inviting Derek in. The flowers have been hidden from Stiles' vision by the wall, until Derek enters the familiar flat and closes the door behind himself. Stiles walks over to the coffee table in the living-room to pick up two empty mugs from its glass surface. A lump forms in Derek's throat, but he forces himself to stand his ground and even his facial expression out.

After taking off his shoes, he follows Stiles to the room and steps directly behind him. He wraps an arm around his slender-muscled body and holds it close to himself, inhaling the other's scent deeply into his lungs. It soothes his nerves, somehow.

“I brought you flowers,” he murmurs into the crook of Stiles' warm neck. He meekly places a kiss on the peachy pale skin.

“Thanks,” comes the response, and Derek can feel as the weight of the bouquet is no longer pulling his hand down due to the gravitation. What surprises him, though, apart from the fact that he's not given a kiss either on the lips or the cheek, is the way Stiles continues the sentence. “But you shouldn't have bought me anything.” Derek is aware that people keep saying this all the time for the sake of being polite, but Stiles' tone makes it clear that he _means it_. If anything, that recalls Derek's anxiety.

He releases Stiles and makes a puzzled, even startled face at him. Stiles is fetching the rosebuds as he grabs a dark blue, transparent glassy vase in the kitchen to arrange the flowers in it. That is the moment when the sight of another bunch of flowers emerges into Derek's attention. He turns around in horror to see a dozen yellow roses staring at him in another vase. He approaches it in an awe to read what is written on the attached card. There are beautifully curling letters on it, the text written fancily with golden ink.

' _Thanks for tonight. I enjoyed it. See you next Wednesday. - xoxo Jackson_ '

Not a single 'I love you', nor any sign of him respecting Stiles even a little. This infuriates Derek.

“Who's that Jackson?” He practically barks out the name. Stiles peeks in to the living-room from the kitchen.

“Oh,” he says, his voice easy and has a chatting tone to it. “He left a while ago.” Before Derek could even think twice, he crumples the card in a wave of his anger and throws it on the table.

“That's not an answer to my question,” he points out. After a beat of silence, Stiles merely says:

“I know.”

Derek tried to suppress his raging emotions all along, considering Stiles is way more important to him than a simple debate, but this is too much. He doesn't want to lose Stiles, but now that he went so far, he can't just back off so easily. He shouldn't have brought up the subject nor ask Stiles about it. He's bound to continue this now and bear until the very end.

“Why won't you tell me who that guy was?” Derek demands, now allowing a free way to whatever he has to say out loud. His breathing is intermittent. Stiles shrugs and comes back to the living-room with the vase and the freshly arranged bouquet in his hands.

“It's enough for you to know that his name is Jackson,” he says. Hearing the name again is like a hypothetical knife stabbed right into Derek's beating heart.

“And who is he to you?” Derek manages out, however, having to swallow hard after asking the question. His gullet is dry like a desert. He fears the answer he's going to be given in a few seconds, but he assumes it's better to know— _even if it hurts_.

“Derek,” Stiles says. For a second, Derek lets his guard down and lulls himself into the false hope-fed dreamworld, thinking Stiles will apologize, jump into his arms and kiss him hard until they forget about this nonsense.

But reality is just not like that to Derek. He almost chokes on the amount of air he's inhaling into his lungs when he hears how Stiles continues and ends his sentence.

“We should never see each other again.”

“W-what?” he hardly stutters out on a hoarse tone. Stiles' amber gaze never leaves him even for a split second.

“Like I said,” he says, parroting himself, this time pronouncing the words slower with more articulation, as if Derek was illiterate. “We should never meet again.”

Derek wants to ask why. He wants to ask what led Stiles to this conclusion. He wants to know if Stiles hates him or still loves him. _If he's ever loved him at all._ Derek wants to ask a lot of questions, his tongue itching to form the words, but he's unable to do so. His mouth has gone dry and he seriously needs to pay attention to his knees, being they feel like jelly and threatening to let him collapse anytime. Apparently, the only thing he manages to say is:

“I love you.”

Like it would solve everything. Like it would make Stiles change his mind and suck back his previous words. Like it would change Stiles' demeanor towards Derek. As if it was any of a hope. However, that is the only thing Derek can hold onto at the moment.

Stiles' reaction is not what he expected—or wanted—to be; instead of reassuring Derek of his affection, too, he darts his eyes down on the ground, a small smile playing in the corners of his lips. His face looks somewhat guilty. His body moves to turn around and leave the room, but the moment he speaks again, Derek moves.

“Go away, Derek.”

But Derek denies to be a submissive puppy any longer. He merely had to look over Stiles' attractive body to have his possessive self taking over him, the one that won't let anyone else to claim that body—the slightly upturned nose that he finds adorable, those obscene lips, the awkwardly directed vein in his neck that turns available whenever he raises the volume of his voice, those amber eyes which have been constantly captivating Derek, his dark strands of hair that's reaching upwards in haphazard spikes, his strongly outlined collarbone, the perfect curve of the small of his back, his long limbs those gained a little more muscles during that one and a half year they spent together... Derek remembers everything, every little detail, and he can't just let it go so easily. Not when he's so attached, when he truly loves Stiles, more than his own wife, not when everything has been so good between them.

He won't let Stiles end all of this so easily.

Before Stiles could turn away all the way, Derek is already there, shoving him against the nearest wall and pinning his vulnerable body there, between the wall and Derek's own. Stiles only has time to gasp out a surprised breath before Derek mumbles into his mouth.

“I'm not handing you over to _anyone_ ,” he says with obvious emphasis on the last word. “Could you renounce our relationship? Don't tell me you wouldn't miss our regular workout in the gym. Or that you wouldn't miss this all. Don't tell me you wouldn't mind blocking our common memories,” he whispers into the other's mouth before sealing his lips on Stiles'. He almost forgot how heavenly this feels during the argument.

Derek pushes his hips against Stiles', earning a broken moan in exchange for it. A modest shiver runs down along his spine at the sound of it, but it only makes him more eager for his lover's _everything_. He wants to bait that sound out again, so he begins rutting his crotch forward shamelessly in anticipation. His panting turns heated and faster, and Stiles' answering hardness is a great indication for him to know that Stiles is still interested.

His hands slide under the hem of the T-shirt Stiles is wearing. A groan is all the response he gets, however, it was suppressed by a swallow. When he changes to Stiles' neck, two amazingly shaped hands slide on his chest and start pushing him away. At the same time, Stiles manages to gasp out what he wants to tell Derek.

“You— _shit, Derek_ —always said I needed to be independent,” he says, inhaling a rather big amount of air. Derek mumbles his answer against the crook of his neck.

“But I didn't mean it in the terms of you dumping me.”

“Just—” Stiles starts to say, but he's cut off when Derek's hands circle around his waist, lift him up and this forces him to not only straddle Derek's hips but also to wrap his legs around them. Derek rubs his crotch against Stiles', both of them moaning at the sensation. “Let go!” Stiles exclaims and Derek stops in a blink of an eye. His body goes paralyzed like he was a statue. He puts down Stiles, makes sure he can stand on his own, then backs off one or two steps. He can't help but stare at Stiles' gorgeously red, swollen lips and his neck that has earned a few pink spots by Derek sucking a hickey there as an indication. An indication that this man belongs not to anyone but to _him_. “I let you cheat on your wife with me; don't be surprised that I have someone else, too.”

Derek widens his eyes due to this macabre honesty. Stiles' unusual, relentless straightforwardness caught him off-guard. Stiles wipes his saliva-covered lips with his thumb before continuing his assault of sarcasm.

“You fuck me, then go back to your wife to have sex with her as well, like you were the embodiment of the perfect husband.” This time Derek's quick with his response.

“I haven't made love to her ever since I knew you!” His voice is louder than he intended. Stiles shrugs.

“I don't care. The gist is that I don't want to be anyone's second. Jackson doesn't have anyone besides me.”

“You know you're prior to my wife,” Derek points out. It's the truth after all.

“Yeah, sure. And whenever she gives you a call that she arrives earlier you rush out the door to be there,” Stiles says. “I don't want it anymore.” After a short pause, he adds, “Now leave, Derek.”

And before he could think of a way to deny it, or to prove Stiles he's mistaken, like an obedient puppy, he's already approaching the door, putting his shoes on and leaving the apartment.

The apartment of his one true love, whom he probably will never see again.

Only when he arrives back to the office to work on his supposed work, does he remember he forgot to ask if Stiles had ever actually loved him. But he can't go back to ask that now. And not only now, but never again.


	2. Love's a loaded Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's life is getting harder and harder. Apparently Stiles breaking up with him wasn't enough punishment. No, destiny thinks another punch in his guts is inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so really sorry for updating so late, but I was overburdened due to my school duties.
> 
> A minor twist can be found in this chapter, the major one is still bound to come later.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Enjoy :)

After spending the whole night at the office, Derek swears to God not to tell Kate again that he has to do bookkeeping to cover for himself. Not that he would need it again, apparently.

He considers this night was enough punishment for him for cheating on Kate—a whole night spent with supposed work, that merely consisted of him checking on his previous jobs exhausted his brains out. He got a rough five-hour-long sleep, but his eyelids are heavy as lead.

Derek migrates to the coffee machine in the hall of his floor. The coffee is cheap and doesn't taste good at all, but it's perfectly good for Derek's aim which is to wake the synapse between his nerve cells a little bit. He rolls the coins in and pushes the button marked 'strong black' after decreasing the amount of sugar and reducing the milk to zero. He rubs his eyes before folding his arms over his chest with a loud sigh. Few moments later he realizes that he's started tapping his foot on the floor impatiently.

What did that Jackson guy think, anyway? Just went and stole Stiles from him in a blink of an eye? And that bouquet, really? Yellow roses are given to sick grandmothers in hospitals, not to your lover. Derek seriously can't believe that Stiles chose that douchebag over him. He's still agonizing over the question that bugs him the most: did Stiles even love him at all? And if he did, then what did Derek commit that made Stiles break up with him?

His mind is offering numerous variety of possible answers when the sight of someone else's shoes comes into his vision, that's firmly darted down on the floor.

“Your coffee is ready.”

Derek looks up and shakes his head modestly. He fights back a yawn, then extends his hand toward the plastic cup. He takes it carefully and raises it to his mouth. The scent of it is not as good as the coffee he's given at home, but the damp warmth of the steam brushes over his skin. Derek appreciates it.

“Sorry, Lahey,” he says in an apologetic tone. The blonde guy laughs a bit.

“Don't be _so_ sorry,” he says, waving his hand. “As far as I know, you didn't murder anyone, just started daydreaming in front of the machine.” Derek involuntarily looks down at the dark gray carpet. “You did?”

“What?” Derek perks his head up. “No! Of course not!” Isaac laughs at him nicely again. He takes a step closer to pat Derek's bicep in an attempt to calm him down.

“Sure you didn't,” he says warmly with a hint of fondness in his tone. “You seem to be exceptionally worn out today, though. Did something happen?” For a second, Derek considers telling him about Stiles. Just for one second.

“No,” he ends up responding. “I just had to check my bookkeepings so far.”

“Gosh, how do you have the nerves to do that? I can imagine what your office looks like right now.”

Truth is, Derek started to put away all the certificates and documents in connection with the transporters at four in the morning for the sake of having a clean office to work in during the day. He prefers order and his surroundings spick and span clean. The disharmony of his environment bugs him, because then he can't work as efficiently as he wants to.

To Isaac's statement, he merely shrugs and takes a quick sip from the dark steaming substance. For some reason he has a stinging feeling in his gut, which forecasts something bad that is ought to happen sooner or later. Derek starts to wonder what that ominous thing will be, when will it happen, and what will it be in connection with. He really hopes it won't have to do anything with Stiles.

He's drawn back into reality when Isaac smacks his fingers in front of his eyes to gain his attention again. Derek blinks once or twice before moving his pale eyes back on the other man.

“What did you say? I'm sorry, I wasn't listening.”

“I kinda figured that,” the blonde says, with just the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I asked if you had time after work tonight. The guys and I are planning on going to the bowling alley.”

Derek considers it while flooding his mouth with coffee and then keeping it in there, tasting it. He ends up shaking his head.

“No can do,” he answers after swallowing. “I'm going to the gym.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” Isaac says. “Damn. Well, maybe next time?”

“Sure,” Derek assures with a nod. He finishes his coffee, then drops the plastic cup into the bin. “You coming to today's session?”

“Yeah, there's literally no chance for me to skip it. I had to turn down a meeting to be able to be there. Your uncle would kill me, because last time I didn't have some of my administrations done.” Derek snickers.

“Well, Peter is strict either with his subordinates and himself. You better get used to his ambitions, or you'll be sacked.”

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” Isaac responds with a deadpan face. “I have everything neatly done now, though.”

“Great,” Derek says, then checks his watch. “I have to go. I need to steal some more time to sleep, or else I'll be knocked out during the session.”

Isaac chuckles. “Sure. Nighty-night!”

Derek heads to his office. Once inside, he locks the door behind himself and closes the shutter hanging in front of the glass. He approaches the middle-sized sofa and face-first clunks out on it with a loud groan. He lazily fishes out his cell phone from his pocket for the sake of setting an alarm for himself before dropping the phone down and closing his eyes tiredly.

Then, his thoughts wander to dangerous territory.

His mind assaults him with memories about Stiles—that one time he visited Derek in his office, and they made love on this very sofa. Even Derek was puzzled to see Stiles here, but his day was brightened the second he saw the other stepping into this room. The smoothness of Stiles' skin is vividly lingering among his memories, and also how hot it turned during the sex, what sounds Stiles was making, the way he tried his best to desperately suppress those involuntary noises against the heel of his hand, and how demanding he appeared to be towards Derek.

A frustrated breath tears Derek's lips apart when he realizes he's successfully developed a hard-on.

He hasn't figured out a way to get rid of that inconvenient issue yet, so he can only guess that taking deep breaths will help to even himself out. Derek's eyes drowsily find the clock on the wall—he has two hours to rest.

Filled with agony, he slowly manages to lull himself asleep eventually.

~

During the session the best activity with which he can kill the time with the most effectively is leafing through all the files he brought with himself. He's also halfheartedly listening to what Peter has to say, but it's nothing he hasn't known already—it's in connection with the liquidity and the budget of the company.

Following the session, Peter beckons him over to have a couple words with him. At first Derek thinks it's going to be something work-related, but he's proven wrong when his uncle starts to talk about the dinner he's been organizing for a month. He tells Derek when and where he's supposed to go, and also, that Peter is expecting him to be there. Peter goes far enough to mention Laura and Cora as well, and how much they want to see Derek.

At the remainder of his day, Derek has to make calls to the bank, the transporters and has to do the bookkeeping of sending back some damaged materials to the transporters after he's given the certificates of that economical event happening.

While he's packing his papers and notebooks into his briefcase, his mind volunteers to play a nasty game with him—the fact that he's going to the gym tonight comes to his mind, which means he's going to _see Stiles_. His heart rate enhances at that thought, but then suddenly a coldness kills all the warmth in his heart.

Stiles is no longer going to show up there.

His jaw clenches strongly, and that nerve is back on his temple, jumping frantically by the force of Derek's anger. After persuading himself into going to the gym anyway in order to release stress, he drives there and goes over the usual things he does, however, his mind is filled with pictures of Jackson and Stiles from the previous day all the while.

Derek nearly kills the punching bag.

~

When he parks the Camaro in front of the block of flats he and Kate live in, a frustrated exhale of air tears his lips away from each other as he leans against the stirring wheel exhaustedly. He rests his forehead against it and blinks at the dashboard. Derek needs to brace himself to see Kate again—for the first time since Stiles dumped him.

He doesn't know why he feels so awkward about it, after all he no longer has a lover to hide from Kate, and this should mean he no longer feels burdened around his legal mate.

But life is just not like that to Derek.

No, because it's one huge paradox, in which he feels overwhelmed when he has _nothing_ to be overwhelmed about. He glances at the passenger seat in which his cell phone is lying. Partly he still hopes Stiles would call him and apologize, but a bigger part of him is well aware that it's not going to happen.

Derek groans and shoves himself away from the wheel. “Oh, fuck it.”

He hops out of the impressive black car and makes a beeline to the elevator. After getting inside, he pushes the button of the floor of his and Kate's flat, then rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger sleepily. Just before the two-winged metal door would open, he fights back a loud yawn that's threatening to break free.

Kate opens the door before he could do so much as knock.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she coos, and presses her lips to Derek's cheek. He turns his head in a different angle for the sake of kissing the woman, but there is no affection in it, let alone passion. For him physical contact with his wife doesn't mean anything more than that—merely _physical contact_. Touches and playful strokes of hands and fingertips meant something with _Stiles_.

Derek shoos that thought out of his head the second it is born.

“How was your day?” Kate asks, but Derek doesn't feel like talking at all, so he walks passed her, kicks off his shoes and heads to the desk standing along the wall of the living room. Its surface is big enough to contain only a bottle of whiskey on it with some glasses for it. Derek knows in his guts that Kate is frowning upon him drinking alcohol before dinner, but apparently, she stays quiet. After one or two minutes pass, Kate approaches him from behind and wraps her arms around Derek's waist. He can feel her cheek resting against his spine between his shoulder blades as her thumb begins tracing over his skin through the fabric of his button-up shirt. The silence is broken soon when Kate speaks up again, “You seem reluctant. Did something happen?”

Derek stiffens just a bit.

He gets over his mini mental breakdown in a second and organizes himself enough to manage to force out a reply. “No, I'm just tired. You know I've been working overnight to check on my previous jobs.”

Kate's thumb halts momentarily against his belly, but then it moves again. Derek ignores it.

“I see,” is all she says, then lets go of Derek after placing a kiss on his back, on the spot where her face was a few seconds ago. “Dinner's ready.” Derek doesn't reply at first, just shrugs off the jacket of his suit, letting it drop down to the floor. Eventually, he speaks up. His voice is hardly above a whisper.

“I'm not hungry. But thanks.”

“What do you mean by _that_?” Kate asks in a harsh tone. Derek shrugs and picks up his suitcase from the ground, loosening his tie awhile. He takes off toward his study, but Kate isn't done yet. “During the four years we spent together you never once refused to eat when you got home. You're _always_ hungry when you arrive from work.”

“Not today, apparently,” Derek replies. He sounds more sarcastic than he intends to, but he can't bring himself to care too much about it. Kate crosses her arms over her chest and gives the man a quizzical look.

“Don't you dare to just wave me off like that,” she threatens. If anything, that makes Derek stop and turn around on his heels to look at the woman. He's never heard her talk like that. “What is so important to do in your study when _you're tired_?”

“I need to do something,” Derek answers simply, then continues as if Kate was an ignorant person who needs an explanation to know what a study is. “You know, people usually go to their study when they have some work to do.” Kate gives him a crooked smile and slowly starts to walk toward him, unfolding her arms.

“Oh,” she says in a suspiciously gentle tone all of a sudden. She stops just approximately a meter away form him. “I thought you were working _at night_.”

“I was,” Derek confirms.

“What did you do exactly?” Derek's chest tightens at that question. He knows something is not right here. Suddenly his instinctive forecast from this morning comes to his mind which notified him that something bad was ought to happen. It was a confrontation with his wife, it would seem.

“Check my previous bookkeepings,” he answers. It's the truth after all.

“So 'being astern with your job and having to stay in during the night' means 'supervising' to you?” Derek swallows hard. Shit. He forgot he told that to Kate yesterday. “I have one more question,” she says. Derek does his best to act freely, carefully even as he motions with his hand, urging Kate to go on by this.

For a second even the air is paralyzed in the room and Derek feels like it was getting gradually smaller and smaller, eventually and excruciatingly crushing him.

“Are you cheating on me?”

“What?” Derek blurts out. In his ears his hoarse and hollow voice sounds unfamiliar and it's coming from afar. “Why would you think—”

“I don't want the pleas, Derek,” she says roughly. “I've been suspecting it.” That confession startles Derek. How? When? What mistake did he do? And most importantly: _does she know about Stiles?_ “Since your face is enough evidence for me to know my deductions were right, I volunteer to explain it to you in exchange for your honest non-verbal answer,” she smirks smugly, and for the first time Derek sees her more like a snake than a human being. “Once when you were supposedly on a 'business trip',” she starts, showing quotation marks with the usage of her hands. “you left some of your papers at home. I called in to the company, but they didn't know anything about any kind of trip that you had to attend.”

Derek only notices that his free hand is clenched as well when his nails deepen into his skin so deeply it leaves purple, waning moon-marks. Kate goes on.

“At first I thought you just wanted some privacy, since you've always been the guy who prefers solitary, but when you got home you ignored each of my attempts to seduce you. Even when I was purposefully touching your thigh, you said you weren't in the mood.” Derek opens his mouth, but Kate holds up her finger as an indication she's not finished yet and to shut him up. It works. “And it went on. Even when I was going straight for your dick.” Derek can't help but wince at the last word. For some reason it sounds like nails against a chalkboard.

The two of them eye each other for a long while which seems to be infinite. The silence is suffocating, but Kate appears to be taking grim satisfaction in the situation. The morbid realization strikes Derek as if a thunder zigzagged through his body—Kate is _enjoying_ this.

And apparently, the worst part is up to come.

“I don't care about it, Derek,” she says. “I never care about such things. I _take care of them_.” At first Derek can't figure out what Kate means by that, but as if she was reading his mind, she adds, “I'm going to find whoever that is and kill the individual.”

And with that, she turns around and heads to the dining room, leaving Derek standing there in shock, his feet rooted into the floor. He can hardly hear Kate calling back through the furiously beating blood in his ears.

“Hungry yet, baby boy?”

He has to find Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly hope you liked this chapter as well and awaiting the further updates :)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I really hope you liked this chapter.
> 
> Obviously, our favourite OTP's story together is not over yet, otherwise I wouldn't have tagged that this story has multiple chapters. The second one is up to come!
> 
> I'm not planning on making this too long, since the story is one that escalates rather fast, so. (And I also know myself, but I already mentioned my issues at one of the end notes at _Written in the stars_. And I don't like to repeat myself.)
> 
> p.s.: The story is going to have a really big twist, so await it! :)


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